


Staring Down The Barrel

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Series: Fruit of Eden [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ORIGINALLY POSTED: March 08, 2010</p>
<p>Sam has a heart-to-heart with Lucifer, and the consequences aren't what either of them expected ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staring Down The Barrel

Seriously.

_Seriously?_

Does the world have a grudge or something against him? _Everything you say can and will be used against you_ … Christ … he’s spouting stuff right out of those CSI shows. Great. Wonderful. 

And why the hell is he still inside? Shouldn’t he be taking care of this?

“Uh … yeah. I’ll … I’ll be right back.”

_Wow … smooooooth, Winchester._

He can see the _I call bullshit_ expression settling on Dean’s face, and he knows the faster he gets out that door, the better for everyone. Hopefully.

The younger Winchester’s wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, an old threadbare t-shirt, and his boots. It’s morning. It’s cold. He’s uncomfortable, and it seems acceptable to blame it on the archangel standing several feet away from him.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t actually coming out here.” Lucifer’s voice is quiet, but still somehow possesses that almost dangerous edge.

Sam’s eyebrow arches. “Well … I’m sure you’ll understand my reservations about this whole thing …”

“Of course,” the archangel answers almost flippantly. “But for the last time … I’m not here for that. Any of that.” 

“How the _fuck_ am I supposed to believe that load of bull?” Sam retorts tersely, lips pressed together in a thin line.

The only answer he receives is a genuinely hurt expression from the archangel. Nothing else. No display of power, no ‘holier than thou’ speech … nothing. Just … an almost frightening sense of tension and discomfort.

The hunter opens his mouth again. “So what … all of a sudden you’re tame and harmless? You’ve kind of been disproving that theory left and right lately.” 

The archangel’s shell of superiority and sharp comebacks seems to be crumbling around him and Sam can’t help but take a step away, unsure of how to interpret that.

“I am not tame.” The retort is cold and bitter, and the fire in the look directed his way is more than enough to support the statement.

Sam holds his hands up carefully. “Right. Sorry.” Then, he narrows his eyes. “So … why are you here then? What point are you trying to make?”

Lucifer regards him carefully for a moment, weighing options, weighing words.

“I am here … to acknowledge the point _you_ made.”

Oh. _Oh shit._

Sam’s eyes go slightly wide and he barely suppresses the squeak that almost makes it out. “Um … ok … so …” he cuts himself off there, before he can shoot himself in the foot again.

Oh well. It’s not like he hasn’t shot himself in the fucking head about a dozen times already. _I knew I shouldn’t have … I knew I shouldn’t have touched …_

Just before he can turn and bang his head succinctly against the nearest hard surface until something useful emerges, Lucifer’s hand is on his arm and he somehow suppresses the urge to tear away. Though he doubts he could even if he wanted to. The grip feels human, but it’s not.

“I understand … now … what you mean.” The archangel’s words are slow; he’s picking his way through them. “I understand … why you do what you do.”

“Yeah … so what, you had an epiphany in the ever-so-convenient hours between then and now?” the hunter’s tone is dubious.

Lucifer frowns at him, almost in that _why must I spell everything out for you_ way that all the angels they’d ever met seemed to have. Then; “Revelations are powerful … not something to be taken lightly.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, not exactly comforted by that little piece of wisdom.

“Ok … so … I’m not on your immediate seek-and-destroy list anymore?” his tone is hopeful, almost saccharinely so. 

The archangel huffs out a seemingly frustrated breath, and rolls his eyes. A … pretty damn frightening human gesture.

“I don’t have a list,” he states, expression caught between exasperation and a touch of anger. “And you are not making this explanation any easier.”

“Oh, well excuse me!” Sam bites back, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “And you haven’t been making our lives a living _Hell_ for God knows how long?!”

At that, Lucifer seems to snap. Some fragile little thing within just shatters and one minute, he’s watching Sam with that odd, detached curiosity, and the next, he has the hunter pressed firmly against the side of the Impala, their lips sealed together.

Sam startles violently, both hands flying to the archangel’s shoulders and eyes going as wide as saucers. _No … nonononono … that was a dream … when it was a dream I could pretend it wasn’t real … it wasn’t happening … it wasn’t real-_

_It is real._ The reply cuts him off easily and succinctly, and almost chills him to the bone.

Then, even as his brain screams at him to pull away, to push away, to run, to escape, he doesn’t. Instead, Sam pushes back, pushes back with the same amount of greed, desperation, defiance. 

Their tongues tangle together, warring and battling in a struggle neither would truly win. Lucifer tastes like smoke, and fire, and lightning, and ice, all thrown together into one confusing assault on Sam’s senses. He tastes different than Sam imagined, and he almost feels a part of himself quaver as he realizes it’s not decisively a bad thing. 

One hand has found its way into the archangel’s short blond hair, tugging and pulling by turns. That knowledge alone almost turns Sam’s stomach, but what turns it more is the fact that he _wants_ … he wants _this_. Then, the disgust melts into a flare of heat in his gut, spreading outwards faster than he could possibly comprehend.

With a short burst of air against his lips, Lucifer pulls back, piercing blue eyes wide, lips wet and kiss-bruised. They stare at each other for several very long moments, breath still mingling as they stay very much within each other’s personal space.

“I will show you what has changed.” The archangel’s tone is low, but decided. Those alien eyes flash once, with that same incomprehensible power, and before Sam can open his mouth to respond or berate him, he is gone.

In a flurry of eerily familiar wing beats, Lucifer disappears, leaving Sam slumped against the Impala; shaking, confused, and once again, helplessly aroused.

He stays there for a short while, panting, blinking and trying to regain the axis to his world. Then, once everything stops spinning, he manages to get back inside.

“Christ … Sammy … what _happened_?”

Sam knows he probably looks like a hopeless wreck, but he just keeps moving towards the bathroom, almost doubled-over and one arm wrapped around his gut.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice is agitated now, and the younger Winchester can hear him getting up.

“Dean … just … don’t.” Sam holds out his free hand, and mercifully, the footsteps halt. Whether Castiel has a hold on him, or it was his own choice, Sam’s more than grateful. 

He throws himself into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, then stumbles into the shower, still completely clothed. 

With a twist of the knob, near-scalding water pours over him. Sam yelps at the sudden sensation, but can’t find it in himself to change it. Instead, he yanks his pajama bottoms down, along with the boxer shorts he’d been wearing, and wraps a hand around his painfully hard cock. 

Stroking quickly and with little finesse, Sam shudders, his orgasm already roaring through his veins. Then, with a cry that could have easily been mistaken for pain, he comes, the Morningstar’s name on his lips. 

Then, he collapses against the tiled wall, shivering and shaking and vaguely terrified.

_What … have I done?_


End file.
